


The Man

by sherlollyship



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Era, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle imitation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:20:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlollyship/pseuds/sherlollyship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is presented with a case from Molly Hooper. Together Sherlock, Molly and John embark to solve the case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> I've done my very best to imitate Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's writing and although nothing can compare to his masterpiece, I hope that my writing at least resembles it. The story is also set in canon era. Hope you enjoy it!

Over the course of my intimacy with Sherlock Homes I have been his biographer and given accounts of his many baffling cases. Some I have submitted to public view, and others I have resolved to keep for my own sake; I found certain events to be inappropriate to share and I wondered if they might be a violation of my dear friends privacy. I believe, not from a biographer, but perhaps a writer’s perspective, it was a wise assumption. First of all, my humble friend found my accounts to be not completely accurate. I am compelled to admit that his memory is a better servant to him than mine is to me, but more often he accused me of romanticizing him and our adventures. And so, I am afraid that he would not appreciate the account I am about to give of a very peculiar, and I believe one of the most important cases we ever encountered. Secondly, my companion was a well-known character in the world and the mystery that surrounded him made him more so. Therefor I have given this document to another trusted friend, Mike Stanford, who might, if he pleases and if he finds it fitting, publish this account of the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes when both our time has come. It is a dreaded thought, but I believe we must all think ahead at some point. Most of all and most important to me is that those readers that I have had the pleasure to share my experiences with may see that Sherlock Holmes was indeed a man.

 

-John Watson

 

It was a late Sunday afternoon when I was called to Baker Street. I left my wife by the fireplace and made my way out of doors, into my cab and on through London. It was storming heavily and I scurried quickly inside to avoid the cold. Holmes was pacing back and forth in his usual fashion, his head bent to his chest and his hands joined uniformly behind his back. He had been without a case for weeks and by the dark rings that marked his eyes and his sloppy posture I could see that he had resulted to his poisons. It was a habit he frequented more often when he was bored and lacked stimuli. Usually he only called me for a case, occasionally just for company, but that occasion was rare. I hoped that some crime might have caught his attention; in this state he was dreadful to deal with.  
“Please do sit Watson, though I believe you have been sitting for too long, your practice I deduce, is suffering from a lack of clients. And you have been looking for unsolved crimes in the newspaper I see. I do hope you don’t worry too much for me, as you see I still posses my wit.”

As ever I was all astonishment and begged him to reveal how he had come to his conclusion. I had not seen him in weeks, where he had been much in the same state. But my business had been going quite well at the time and how he could see I had been reading the newspaper; I had not the slightest clue.

“It was no work of genius, I assure you. You are not wearing your usual attire for your work. I know you have not changed out of it; it bears several fresh stains and a good layer of dust that can only be from the streets. As I am sure you have observed that it is raining and pants do not pick up dust in the rain. You have not bothered to dress for clients because you do not expect to have any; hence you have not been receiving clients in quite some time. The latter was a simple observation, a paper cut to be precise. You have been flipping the papers. Your secretary usually does your paperwork for you.”

He explained his deduction with such ease; one would think it nothing extraordinary, though I knew from many attempts myself that making these deductions in the matter of such a short time was a very trivial thing.  
“But of the newspaper, how did you know that I was looking for cases?”

“I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson, you don’t read newspapers on a daily basis. I’m sure if you examine your fingers you will find several. And if you had been reading it page by page, you would not be so hurried or careless to cut yourself upon the paper, nay you were looking for a particular section. Also you don’t approve of the way I entertain myself between cases and I like to believe that you would like to draw me away from my poisonous habit.”

He was quite correct of course in all his assumptions. 

“Can you by any chance deduce why I suffer from a loss of clients?”

“Be sure Watson, it is mere timing. People are healthier as I hope it might be do to an improvement of hygiene.”

He moved to look out the window onto the streets. 

“I suppose you are also wondering why I have called you at this time. I am expecting a client, as you might suspect. I believe it will lead me closer to Moriarty and I have great hopes that this meeting might be worth my time. I hope you will agree to accompany me if that be the case?”

“Of course.”

As by cue Holmes announced the arrival of the client. Not soon after, the visitor came through the door, dress soaked and hair dripping. Her dress was simple and a seamstress dress as far as I could see. Her brown hair was wet and messy from the storm and her cheeks hued pink from the cold. She carried nothing excessive, no handkerchief, jewellery or hairpins. There was nothing I could deduce about her besides that she must be a seamstress do to her dress and a cut that decorated her delicate hand.  
“You must be miss Hooper I presume, pray sit.”

“That is my name. And you are Sherlock Holmes.” She turned to me and smiled. “And you must be John Watson.”

Her countenance was refreshing, our usual clients came from an upper class though others were not as wealthy, and we rarely received clients from the hard working class of London. She was not pompous and posh, but was more shy and gleeful. Her appearance was sweet and if I daresay rather pretty. 

I thought I had successfully deduced the woman and I was satisfied with my result, but my companion looked thoroughly puzzled and I doubted myself. 

“You are acquainted with inspector Lestrade I gathered from your letter, though I think you have not had any trouble with the police and I suspect you have neither husband nor friend who has. Why and under what circumstances would a seamstress befriend an inspector?”

“Well sir, I am afraid there is a fault in your deduction.” She smiled.

“The scar on your hand. That is key, I think. Nothing else calls my attention. Though I presumed your scar to be a result of some sort of accident, perhaps a deeper meaning lies behind the mark. Please tell me about yourself, if you will?”

He sat down opposite of her, his curiosity was decidedly sparked and I was convinced that he had finally found a case worth solving. And above all I was amazed, Holmes seemed always to have the answer to everything, read a life history in one look, deduce their entire character in a minute, but now he fell short, unable to deduce anymore then myself. I believed that no matter if her information proved false, this mysterious woman was a case in herself and a good distraction. 

“First of all I am not a seamstress.”

“Then why, good woman, have you chosen this attire?”

“It was my mother’s you see, she was indeed a seamstress. My profession is not as commonplace. There are few women that employ the same field; I might think I am the only one. And I must be sure that you will keep my secret for me, will you promise?”  
“We promise our silence on the matter of your profession. Please do continue.”

She thought for a second before placing her trust in us. Both me and astonishingly Sherlock Holmes were both very eager to hear her story and urged her on more.

“I work in a morgue. My father did the same and tutored me in secret. The police know that I am employed there and they have agreed to let me. Hence I know Lestrade. I chose this dress to avoid suspicion and it is one of the few I own.”

Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair; I could barely read my dear friends expression. He was smiling, but he also looked disappointed, probably because the failed attempt to deduce his client. He took a great amount of pride in his skill and it was visibly hurt. His smile was wholly credited to miss Hooper. 

“There is one more thing that I would like to know and I hope you take no offense by my question. Why have they agreed to silence?”  
“I am good at what I do, one of the best if I may be so bold.”

The lively woman impressed me. I could tell that she did not like boasting and was by nature a humble creature, so I had no doubt that she was sincere when it came to her abilities.

“I am now sure your case is worth hearing. What brought you to me?”

She started her story and Holmes closed his eyes, positioned his hands under his chin and listened. 

“On Wednesday I was working and another body was brought to me for preparation and inspection. I have seen grotesque corpses before, bodies of every kind have gone through my morgue, but such as this I have never encountered. It was a young man, mid twenties, his face….oh his face. It was dreadful, It was red, bright red and swollen in the most horrible way. I tried to convince the current inspector that something was off; there was something not quite right about him. The police declared him to be stricken by disease, but he was too well kept. Such does not happen overnight and when it does, one stays in bed to be tended to. I do not know what happened to him, but I am convinced that it was no disease.”

Sherlock Holmes’s eyes popped open when he realised the client had stopped speaking. I confess, I was excited and found myself sitting on the edge of my seat ready to take action. Though it was late in the evening and I knew the morgue could not be accessed, my energy was too aroused to think clearly. In retrospect, I was in need of a case as much as my friend. 

“You have proved a very interesting client, Miss Hooper. There is not much we can do today, but tomorrow we shall pay a visit to your morgue if you would be so kind as to permit us. You may go now, I hope it will all be cleared up soon, I suspect that I will. Have a pleasant evening.” 

He guided her out the door, smiling like a child. I was relieved to see such tremendous change in his manner; I believe he would have lost all his wit if he had continued much longer without a case. 

After the lady had exited and her cab disappeared from the road, Sherlock Holmes turned to me and his eyes were twinkling, his cheeks even tinted red. I believed him to yet again have been intoxicated by mystery.  
“I trust you can see yourself out.” He said to me. 

He walked towards his bedroom; before he entered he turned to me.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” I answered.


	2. Playing Deductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The update has taken some time and I'm sorry for this. I hope you all like this new chapter and hopefully it will no be long till the next one!

The next day I rose early, determined to begin the case. I decided that the first order of business was to be sure that the lady had not been mistaken and that it might be in fact the result of a cruel disease or infection. I own a wide variety of medical books and I began my tedious search through the entirety of them. Luck was on my side as I found a match in the second book.   
I was disappointed, I should not have been, but I was. The excitement that had been running through my veins ceased and I was reluctant to tell Holmes of my finding, but it was inevitable.

He took it fairly well; he appeared to be surprised, but not discouraged. He stated that we must visit the morgue nonetheless; he believed that something must be amiss. I thought that he must be in denial, it was all quite clear to me, but then I could never be sure what I missed, he had clearly obtained some information that I was oblivious to.

So in the afternoon we met for our appointment with Miss Hooper who was expecting us. She met us half way up the stairs since she couldn’t be seen above till dark when she snuck out and home. She guided us downwards and through a labyrinth of empty halls and locked up doors. The room we came to was well lit up and a single body lay on the slab. 

I can tell you that I have been witness to my fare amount of gruesome corpses, but this particular victim has burnt its image into my memory. She had not exaggerated his appearance, his face was swollen red, his body a like colour, but not as grotesque. There was not much to tell of him as he was not clothed and his features were horribly disfigured, presumably due to his condition. My friend was completely unmoved.

“I must tell you, Miss Hooper.” I began. 

“I am sorry to say, no I’m sorry, I am glad to say that I believe I have found the answer to the puzzle. It is an infection, Cellulitis to be precise.” I gave her my medical book that I had brought with me.

“It’s symptoms are swelling and red skin. Also warm skin, but I am sure that cannot be determined at this moment. It matches you see Miss. I am afraid the yard were correct, but not very good at diagnosing.”

She read with a knitted brow and finally nodded, confirming what I had just explained. 

“You must be right.” She concluded.

Holmes was hovering above the body as we talked. He returned to join us and he smiled. He always had the habit of being inappropriately happy in these situations.

“Indeed. He is quite right. But Miss Hooper, I am afraid you have missed a few important facts about this man. Come and have a look.”

We all gathered around the corpse. Sherlock Holmes revealed his magnifying glass.

“See here at the base of his neck, there’s a small hole, needle. This infection is often caused by use of intravenous drug use; I believe that would be the cause of death. Now, there is something else amiss. It’s hard to spot since he is already reddened, but on his wrists there are cuts, also if you look at his ankles you will see they are identical to the wrists. Now these are not mere cuts, these are deliberate markings. I believe it to be a trademark, a sign of membership. Now, you see Miss, tattoos are too obvious, too eye catching. The scars form a triangle, doubtlessly the logo of the unknown group.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, nothing escapes your notice.” She smiled. 

“We should investigate. It should not be too difficult to locate other members.” My dear friend stated.

“But surely a club is not against the law, they are not criminals for forming an alliance.” The lady contemplated.

“I should like to know everything about them all the while. I prefer knowing what happens in London. They might be of use.” 

He went to exit the morgue without further words. I gave the lady a nod before turning to follow my friend when he popped his head back into the morgue.

“Are you not joining me?”

“Yes, I was just about to.” I answered.

“Of course you were Watson, I was referring to Miss Hooper.”

“Well I didn-“ She protested.

“We will be in need of your expertise and I believe also the victims clothes. I have already spoken to the inspector and he has agreed to your absence. Bakerstreet, this afternoon if you please.” 

As soon as it was uttered he was out of the room and I was running after.

 

\---------------------

“I have brought what clothes I could find that he was brought in with, though I hardly think it will be any help. I have already analysed it for unknown chemicals.” Miss Hooper offered Mr. Holmes the clothing.

He smirked and his eyes twinkled.

“You must observe, Miss Hooper. There is plenty I can tell.”

He cleared the dining table and lay each piece of clothing out systematically. He displayed a trench coat; clean and spot free, a pair of shiny shoes and trousers; straight and almost unwrinkled. 

“You have not cleaned these?” 

“They are as they were.”

“Well, this makes our case all the more mysterious, but is a decidedly good clue. Has the time of death been determined?”

“Midday sir, but wha-“

“Then it is all quite simple. We must get to work.” 

He went for his coat and hat.

“But sir, you must explain what you are seeing, because it is far from clear to my eyes. There are no marks to indicate where he has been, his clothing does not seem peculiar to any profession.”

“Precisely!”

I was as lost as the pathologist.

“I am sorry sir, I don’t understand.”

“There are no markings! There is not a single wrinkle, spot of mud or dust! Think, Miss Hooper, what does that tell you, what is your deduction?”

She thought dreadfully hard for a second and my friend was looking a tad disappointed, but then she lit up.  
“Either he has bought new clothes or he is wearing someone else’s. Balance of probability; there are few who have the money to buy all new clothes at once for the simple sake of buying new attire. His condition will have shown signs and if he had gone to the doctor it might possibly have been treated, but he must have put it off. I would believe for economical reasons, the wealthy who have money for shopping would have time and pounds enough to be checked my the doctor.”

“Very good, excellent deduction Molly! Now we must go to the West End.”

He was already half way out the door.

“Why the West End?” I shouted after him.

“I will explain on the way!” He shouted behind him

And so we both came jogging after.


End file.
